Something Else, Or Not?
by L. Emmist
Summary: Jordan is a Controller. Her Yeerk is a former Animorph. And they're both in danger. -- Rated for actionangst. Enjoy Chapter Five! --
1. Idle Wishes

Title: Something Else or Not?  
  
Rating: PG for typically disturbing Yeerk images.  
  
Summary: One of the Animorphs is born as a Yeerk.  
  
Disclaimer: If I owned the Animorphs or anything related to them, I would buy myself a nice big house. And cars. And I would write Animorphs stories all day long. And I would get New Line to make a really, really good Animorphs movie. I'd probably have PJ direct it, too. With good, CG aliens, not guys in plastic suits. I would also sign books and have adoring fans everywhere aspiring to be me. Oh ... but I don't own Animorphs. KAA does. We're clear on that, right? Good. On with the show.  
  
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Prologue:  
  
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What if I had been born a Yeerk?  
  
I mean, there's not really a good reason why I should have been born human. I guess it comes down to what "I" am. Am I a soul, that would have been quintessentially me even if I were a Yeerk? Or am I just a product of my experiences? Am I a combination of my upbringing, my education, my friends, my secrets, and my accomplishments? Am I who I am because I am an Animorph, or because on a deeper level, I am myself? What makes a person who they are?  
  
INTERESTING QUESTION. The voice was voiceless. It was like an epiphany in my brain. Like I had just figured out that two plus two equals four for the first time. It was the "voice" of a superdimensional being.  
  
I know. I've met a few in my time. And I can tell you one thing. It's not good when your mind starts wandering and superdimensional beings listen in.  
  
I looked upward. Ellimist? I asked silently.  
  
NO.  
  
My pulse raced. Crayak?  
  
NO.  
  
Who are you?  
  
ANOTHER INTERESTING QUESTION. BUT IT'S MORE INTERESTING WHO YOU ARE.  
  
I'm just tired, I protested. Don't...  
  
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SOMETHING ELSE, OR NOT?  
  
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By The Drode  
  
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My name is Elash 562, of the Sunim Nus pool. And I don't know why I was assigned to Earth. My rank is quite low, and I'm not suited to combat situations. In fact, I've never performed particularly well in any field. Biology vaguely interests me, but the Empire isn't looking for scientists these days. It's looking for soldiers.  
  
I reiterate: Why was I on Earth?  
  
My best guess was that the Empire was just shipping all available Yeerks to the planet. Apparently, there were an abundant number of hosts on the planet - enough for my entire species to make use of, and still have over a quarter of the population untouched. Humans were supposed to be our greatest weapons against the Andalites, by force of sheer numbers.  
  
I made the entire trip hostless. In a cramped pool with a stale kandrona, trying not to go out of my mind with the insane boredom. Waiting in line for days on end for fifteen minutes with the virtual eyes. Stick your palps into the slots and "see" for a moment or two. It's almost as good as the real thing. Well, it's supposed to be. But I'd take even a Gedd's eyes over that thing.  
  
At least you get three days in a Gedd.  
  
After who knows how long of motionless stagnation, a current altered the flow of the pool. I slapped palps around me. {What?} I asked, in the limited vernacular of palp communication.  
  
{Earth,} came the reply from all around me.  
  
We were here. I would finally get to see it with my own eyes.  
  
So to speak.  
  
But after that initial change in current, a second change in temperature, then a third change in the taste of the water as we were transferred to a larger pool, there was nothing. I discovered that we were, in fact on Earth. But a fat lot of good it did me. I was still in a pool. Still blind. Still waiting. Waiting for my very first human host.  
  
At last, the palps brought the message I had been waiting so long for. {Elash 562. Pier Eight.}  
  
That was all the information I needed. I stretched, scrunched, and squeezed my way through the water to the pier. My time had come. At last I would have a human of my very own. I had heard their senses were excellent - especially vision and taste. My two favorites.  
  
Pier Eight. I rubbed against the nub, alerting the guard that I had arrived. A violent surge in the water, as air bubbles disturbed my weak sonar. That would be the head of the host being thrust under the surface. I reached out, and made contact with the ear. It was a good ear. On the smaller side, but very exciting. I scooted forward, secreting a generous dose of painkiller. I didn't particularly want to hurt the host. I wriggled, squirmed, and forced my way through the ear canal. I had trained in some simulators before coming to Earth, so I had a good idea of what the passage would be like. I reached the ear drum, and noted with interest that no hole had yet been bored to access the brain. I was getting a fresh host. This was both exciting and unpleasant. Exciting, because this would be a mind that had not yet been tapped and broken by my people. My first unconditioned host. Unpleasant, because this would be a mind that had not yet been tapped and broken by my people.  
  
Yes, I know I just repeated myself. It was intentional.  
  
Then I touched the brain.  
  
I am not even going to try and describe that experience. You cannot comprehend it unless you yourself have been there. The best analogy I can come up with is coming out from a dark and musty cave into one of Earth's rain forests. Going from the dark, confined nothingness into the utter vibrance and brilliance, with too much to take in and a feeling of intoxicating unfamiliarity and danger in every crevice of the brain.  
  
I was so concerned with consuming as much of the senses as possible that I almost didn't pay attention to the identity of the host. It wasn't until I had played back every major sensation-oriented memory I could find that I realized she was screaming at me. She wanted me to get out of her head.  
  
Well, she would just have to learn to deal with the fact that I was in charge. I was the Yeerk, and she was just some little human girl named Jordan. 


	2. Rachel

I remembered my training. I had been in my very first Gedd body, and was having trouble with the low, constant moan the Gedd mind usually emits. "I r-r-r can't take this any more r-r-r-r," I complained to my instructor. He was in the body of a young, strong Gedd. It was still weak and deformed compared to most beings in the universe, but it seemed quite impressive at the time.  
  
He leaned in close to me, and spoke without a stutter, demonstrating perfect control over the host body. "These arms, legs, and eyes are yours, Elash 562, not his," he growled. "The mind is yours, not his. He is like a memory of an unpleasantness. If you dwell on him, he will grow stronger. Shut him out, do not think about him. He is a memory alone, and not one worth remembering."  
  
That was all Jordan was. A memory. But it was definitely not as easy to shut her out as the Gedd had been. In the words of Jordan's mind, it was like going from riding an old, fat pony to a wild bronco. Jordan fought, kicked, screamed, and insulted me with some of the juicier expressions I've ever encountered. I ignored her as much as possible.  
  
{Look, okay, you're a jerk. A major jerk. This is my body, get out of my head! I don't like this, go away!} She had stopped screaming and threatening yesterday, and was now merely complaining. Constantly. {Come ON. How would you like it if I took over your body? Oh, wait, I forgot. You don't have much of a body. I could squish you. Why don't you go suck on some salt? Seriously, this is so unfair. You didn't even let me see the new Strong Bad email! The girls at school are so going to notice that. Would you *please* get out of my head?}  
  
I ground Jordan's teeth as I tried to concentrate on the math homework. This was mere algebra, complete child's play. Why was I allowing this host mind, this memory to distract me so much? Any other Yeerk would have had her subdued long ago.  
  
{One good thing is I don't have to do math. But I still have to *sit* here and *wait* for you to finish! This is so boring. Have I mentioned you're a jerk? Because you really are, you know.}  
  
I flew halfway across known space for this?  
  
Finally, I slammed the book shut and headed downstairs. My new body was craving a caffeinated beverage called Dr. Pepper. As with most human products, the name had little or nothing to do with the material itself. Humans. Yeerks would have called it something sensible, like "Darkly Colored, Highly Sugary and Caffeinated Beverage."  
  
When I put it like that, Dr. Pepper had a little something going for it. I poured myself out a large glass.  
  
{Well, FINALLY!} Jordan yelled. {I've only been thirsty for, what, the past half hour? But, listen, pal. If you spill on this new shirt, I am so going to make your life total heck.}  
  
Like it wasn't already. I leaned against the kitchen counter, sipping the drink. Forget the host, Elash. It doesn't matter. It's just a memory.  
  
{I'm still bo-o-o-ored!}  
  
Just a memory.  
  
{Hey, when you were going through my brain, did you find "the song that never ends"? It's one of my all time favorites. Let me sing it for you!}  
  
Memory.  
  
{This is the song that never ends!} Jordan bawled at the top of her mental voice. {It just goes on and on, my friends! Some people ... STARted singing it, not knowing what it was! And now they'll go on singing it forever just because this is the song that never ends! It just goes...}  
  
The front door banged open, and then slammed shut, rattling the house.  
  
Jordan paused in her song. {That would be Rachel. As you probably *know* from staring at *all* my memories of her. Over and over and over. Jerk.}  
  
The tall, blond girl that pervaded Jordan's memories and perspective on life stormed into the kitchen, pulled the fridge door open, and yanked out the HotPockets box with predatory hunger.  
  
I dug into Jordan's mind for the right words. "Well, hi to you, too," I said sarcastically.  
  
"Hey," she said, throwing a Pocket into the microwave and hitting start.  
  
Jordan's life was a complicated one, for such a young person, involving many social spheres and varying levels of high school intruige. But in her whole world, the person who most interested me was this Rachel. Jordan was right, I had replayed many memories involving Rachel. She held a certain fascination for me.  
  
It had all started when her best friend, Cassie, had died. As Jordan's mind put it, about a year and a half ago, "Rachel started getting seriously tense. And weird. And mean. Totally anti-social. Maybe she joined a gang or something, because she's, like, never home, and when she is she's all surly. I think the cheese has basically just slid off her cracker. The girl's nutso."  
  
But beneath this superficial dismissal of her older sister, I saw Jordan's love for her. Her concern that something bad was happening in her life. Her desire to imitate Rachel, warring with her fear that she would become Rachel. I saw how she looked up to her and shoved her away at the same time. I saw how, above all, Jordan really wanted to be best friends with Rachel, but was afraid of her.  
  
And for some reason, I was captivated by this girl.  
  
"Long day at school?" I asked.  
  
Rachel looked at her sister with dead eyes. "Sure," she said. "When is it not a long day at school?"  
  
I smiled, and took a sip of my Dr. Pepper.  
  
"Where's the mustard?" she demanded impatiently.  
  
"I can't believe you put mustard on those things. That is so gross."  
  
"Jordan. Where. Is. The mustard."  
  
"Um, let's think," I said, pushing my lips out in imitation of stupidity. "Duuuhh, da fwidge?"  
  
"Well, hand it to me!"  
  
"Jordan is Mem'saahib's humble slave. Jordan will get Mem'saahib the mustard." I passed her the condiment.  
  
"Is mom gonna be home tonight?"  
  
"No. She's in court. Again."  
  
Rachel spoke gruffly in between bites. "Kay. I'm gonna be out. Working on a project. With Jake."  
  
"Fine," I said. "You don't need my permission."  
  
"I know."  
  
She stood, knocking over the chair. She glanced at it, then pounded up the stairs to her room without righting it.  
  
{She's got issues,} Jordan said. {Now, where was I? Oh, yes. Some people ... STARted singing it, not knowing what it was! And now they'll go on singing it forever, just becase...}  
  
I looked up the stairs after Rachel. She was just one more angry, troubled human youth. No concern to the Yeerk Empire except as a potential host.  
  
So why did my soul ache when she passed by? 


	3. My Sister's Friends

I became increasingly skilled at supressing Jordan as the days wore into weeks. I never once spoke to her. She thought I was incapable of interhost communication. Obviously, I was not, but it was useful for me to have her believe this. Ignoring her made her gradually grow more quiet, as she came to believe that I couldn't hear her.  
  
"Hi, Danielle!" I called. Danielle waved, then disappeared into her classroom.  
  
Jordan's life was indeed complex. It was the first thing that struck me upon taking her on as a host. There were always names, times, places, faces to remember and respond to in a particular way. This set of people were not to be spoken to. That set were, but only when the other set was watching. A third set might be spoken to at any time, unless the subject matter was academic. Then apologies had to be made before school was brought up.  
  
It was a dizzying little existence for one human girl. I shuddered to think how adult lives must have been. Jordan was under the impression that all adults had it easy. I suspected the opposite.  
  
One role I had to play as Jordan was, in my host's words, "Rachel's social secretary."  
  
"Hey, Jordan." The boy whose name Jordan could not bring to mind paused for a moment as I rummaged through Jordan's locker. Jordan thought he was cute.  
  
"Hi!" I chirped. "How are you?"  
  
"Fine," he answered automatically. "Have you seen Rachel?"  
  
I rolled Jordan's eyes. "No, sorry, I don't have my sister radar working today. You'll just have to find her the old-fashioned way."  
  
He left without another word. {Okay, I've changed my mind,} Jordan thought. {He's not cute.}  
  
Jordan often made snap decisions based on very brief interactions. Yet, I tended to agree with her. The boy - she could still not remember his name - seemed cold and withdrawn. I had seen him sitting alone in the cafeteria, just watching the other kids. As if assessing their strengths and flaws. He had a reputation for being sort of a wimp. He never actually got beat up. He had a habit of giving bullies whatever it took to pacify them for the moment. I only knew him by reputation, but he reminded me of many Yeerks I have known. The kids called him Spineless behind his back.  
  
Tobias, that was his name.  
  
Later in the day, Jordan's cousin, Jake pretended to have a conversation with me. In the end, he too just wanted to know where Rachel was.  
  
Jake had changed recently, too. Jordan wasn't too close to him, so she wasn't sure if the change had started around the same time as Rachel's. But there was an edge to Jake. Jordan felt pushed around every time he was near. She felt like standing up to him, but there was nothing he did that she could stand up to. He was polite, but brief, and never seemed to enjoy conversation for its own sake. He wanted things from people. I felt the same way Jordan did, around Jake. Threatened.  
  
Jordan wondered if he, too, had been affected by the death of Rachel's friend, Cassie. She suspected they had liked each other.  
  
{I guess some people just can't move on,} she mused.  
  
I still felt for Rachel. Yet, that aching decreased each day, as I interacted with her more. She was so angry. So very angry. I didn't know what she had to hate so much, but whatever it is, she seemed steeped in it. Her every movement was dark and brooding. She couldn't touch most things without destroying or damaging them. It was as if a forest fire danced beneath her skin, desperate to break free and destroy.  
  
All this because of the death of one friend?  
  
I thought all this was very sad, at best. Pitiful and disgusting at worst. Rachel and her friends were dysfunctional, troubled youths. The only one who seemed at all normal was that Marco boy who Jordan thought so cute. I never suspected anything more than teenage hormones and potential drug abuse.  
  
Which is why I was so surprised when they kidnapped me one night. 


	4. The Walk Home

I was walking back from a soccer game. I enjoy soccer. Yeerks enjoy most sports. Athletics is, in many ways the culmination of the physical experience. And the physical experience is all we want, when you get right down to it. It also helped that Jordan enjoyed soccer, and was quite good at it. Although she wasn't happy with me at the moment.  
  
{What'd I say? I said pass left. Left! If you had passed left, Mindy would have gotten it, dropped it back to Angie, who could have dribbled it up to the goal, where Jeanette was cherry-picking! But nooo. The Slug Who Thought It Could Play Soccer kicked the ball right, and Erica headed it. And where did she head it? To the other team's best player, of course! Thereby closing the gap, thereby allowing them to almost win in the last five minutes!}  
  
Jordan had gotten into a habit of maintaining a whining monologue. Since I never spoke to her, she ran a constant commentary on my actions, and critiqued and insulted every poor choice that I made. She reminded me of a movie she had seen on TV once. "Mystery Science Fiction Theater 3000." We had, in fact, won the soccer game, but the important thing to her was proving that she was smarter than me.  
  
I shifted her backpack higher, whistling a human tune called, "We Are the Champions."  
  
{I hate that song. Cut it out.}  
  
I whistled louder, kicking a rock into the tall grass. Overall, life was good. I had slipped into the role of Jordan quite easily. And despite the complexities and Jordan's complaints, her life was a fairly carefree one. I had allowed her grades to slowly rise under my care, so that now she was afforded many more priviledges than she had been permitted previously. Mom was happier with her than ever. Best of all, I had a host. I could see and feel and smell and taste and hear.  
  
The only jarring notes were Rachel and her friends, and a strange, low-level guilt that ran beneath the surface of my mind. It's hard to explain, especially to another Yeerk. I felt as if I shouldn't have been permitted to gain access to Jordan's mind. As if I was somehow being invasive. Maybe it was just my way of dealing with something that was too good to be true.  
  
I looked up. It had gotten cloudy over the past few minutes. I unconsciously tugged Jordan's mouth muscles down into a frown. It looked like it was going to be yet another rainy day. The shadows that had stood out against the bright sunlight earlier in the afternoon now blended into a gloom that clung to the world.  
  
"Not rain again," I muttered with Jordan's tongue.  
  
{You had better get us inside fast, buster. I do NOT want to get wet right now.}  
  
I agreed with her. I tightened the straps on her backpack, and broke into a light jog. The soccer field was a good ten minutes from home, though. I could smell the humidity coming after me like a predator. Jordan would get good and soaked.  
  
The soccer field stood on one of those little parks that dot suburbia. To get home, I had to cross two fields, then a three-lane highway, then wind my way through the rabbit warden of houses to Jordan's residence. Mom always worried about me crossing that highway. I usually had to wait at least five minutes before I could run to the median strip, then again until I made it all the way to the other side. That would lengthen the walk home intolerably.  
  
I changed direction slightly. There was a place a stream ran underneath the road. They had constructed the road overtop of the stream, fitting it with a bridge big enough for anybody wading in the stream to walk under comfortably. Surrounding it was one of those small, tangled woods that construction workers knock down whenever they start a new building project.  
  
{Aw, man, you're going through the culvert? That means you're going to go down that steep hill, avoid the briars, pick your way through the trees, walk under the creepy bridge, up the steep hill, through the mud, and up to home? Listen, if you're trying to keep clean, you'd be better off just standing in the rain.}  
  
I ignored her. The woods would offer protection from the rain. And if all else failed, I could wait out the storm under the bridge.  
  
{If I get cut, bruised, soaked, or scared, I'll make you real sorry,} Jordan warned me.  
  
She would, too. One time, when I was feeding, she had given herself a black eye. It hurt her, but it hurt me too, and it got me in trouble with Mom, who figured I had been fighting in school. So I worked my way quite carefully through the woods. Soon, the rain came. The trees offered some protection, but not enough. After just a few minutes, I was drenched and miserable.  
  
Then I felt something was there. I looked up.  
  
An impossibly large shape loomed in front of me. A bear. It was a bear, and it was just standing there, watching me.  
  
"Aah!" I yelped, freezing.  
  
The bear didn't move.  
  
Jordan began to panic. I tried to think. Running wouldn't help, Jordan's mind told me that bears could easily outrun people. Maybe if I just backed away slowly . . .   
  
The bear's eyes watched me with cunning intelligence. They picked me apart. There was sentience behind the bear's eyes.  
  
That's when I knew. I had heard of the Andalite bandits. One of them preferred to use the body of a bear to incur its wrath.  
  
"Hello, Andalite," I said, with my little girl's voice.  
  
{Andalite!?} Jordan cried in delight.  
  
{Hello, Yeerk,} the Andalite responded. Then there was a flash of orange and black, and the world went black. 


	5. The Bandits

My wrists were uncomfortable. I tried to move them, but could not. "Ow," I said groggily.  
  
I opened my eyes, and for a moment, could not make sense of the space around me. Where was I?  
  
Jordan's brain instantly began analyzing. It was a small, dark, musty room. The floor was damp, and the cracks in the walls let in very little light. We could hear the rain tapping against the roof.  
  
Jordan was tied to a chair. And that cute Marco boy was sitting across from her.  
  
He looked up from his magazine, and tossed it on the floor. "Good morning," he said amiably.  
  
"Where am I?" I asked blearily. Jordan's head pounded around me.  
  
"Tied to a chair, in a shack, in the woods. Which is exactly where you'll stay for . . . " he paused, and counted on his fingers. " . . . twenty-nine more hours."  
  
Twenty-nine hours. In twenty-nine hours, I would be dead from starvation. My eyes grew wide. He knew. That meant . . .  
  
"You're an Andalite," I whispered.  
  
He looked at me with pure contempt. Looked at me. Not Jordan. His eyes were fixed on her forehead. "Close enough."  
  
The horror began to dawn on me. I had been captured by the Andalite bandits. They had every intention of keeping me confined until I starved. I was going to die. They were going to kill me. Just because of my species. I was going to die.  
  
My horror trickled through into Jordan's consciousness. {Hey . . . this means you're in trouble, right? OKAY!! Go Marco!}  
  
I began to violently struggle. I twisted in my seat. Wrenched my hands back and forth. Rubbed my feet desperately. I had to get out! "Don't do this!" I shrieked. "Don't do this! Let me out!"  
  
Marco watched me for a moment, his face impassive. Then he stood up, grabbed my shoulders, and looked straight into Jordan's eyes.  
  
"No."  
  
That one whispered word chilled me to the bone. I felt the blood drain out of Jordan's face, and the world stood very still. "You can't . . . " I choked.  
  
"No, see, you're wrong!" Marco shot back, almost before the words had left my mouth. "We can. Just like you can wrap your filthy slug bodies around the brains of the people we love! All's fair in love and war, right?"  
  
I glared at him. I wasn't about to get into arguing morals with somebody so sick. He and his species had caused more Yeerk deaths than anyone else. Andalite filth. "Why are you in human morph?" I hissed.  
  
He looked surprised at the question. He opened his mouth, then slowly sat back down and picked the magazine back up. "I like having fists for interrogating controllers," he said. Then he pointedly began to read.  
  
{Okay, he was cute before,} Jordan said. {Now he's gorgeous. I mean, come on. He's gonna get you out of my head! I don't think he has a girlfriend, either . . . }  
  
"Shut up," I moaned.  
  
Marco glanced up. "I didn't say anything."  
  
I clenched Jordan's jaw. Tried to tune out her chatter. She began to burble cheerfully about all the things she would do when I was gone. About how cute Marco was. And, for a change of pace, about what a jerk I was.  
  
Bad memory. Bad memory. The host doesn't exist anymore, not really.  
  
The door to the shack banged open without warning. It was night outside, and still raining hard. In the doorway I could just make out a girl, dripping wet and breathing hard. I couldn't see her face in the darkness.  
  
"You're early," Marco said. "Your shift doesn't start until a half-hour from now."  
  
"Oh, I'll be happy to start now," the girl said. Her voice was laced with triumphant danger. "This watch will be pure pleasure."  
  
Jordan knew that voice. So did I. The girl was Rachel.  
  
"Fine, whatever you say." Marco rolled up his magazine and shoved it in a duffel bag. "See you tomorrow."  
  
"Yeah," Rachel said tersely. She stood by the door, immobile, until Marco had left.  
  
"Don't kill anything," Marco said on his way out.  
  
Rachel didn't reply. She simply closed the door, and took her place across from me.  
  
{Wait, I'm confused,} Jordan said. {Why the heck is Rachel here?}  
  
I was wondering the same thing. I knew for a fact she was human. Why was she with the Andalite bandits? And, come to think of it, why did that Andalite pose as Marco and bother going to school, instead of strategizing out in the woods? I searched Jordan's memories. She had once been to a school production of "The Lion King" with Marco. The show had been over two hours long, and he had remained in his seat the whole time. He hadn't left to demorph.  
  
Which meant that he was human.  
  
Oh, fugue. They were all human. I stared with wide eyes at the shadowed face of Rachel. My host's sister was one of the Andalite bandits. She was one of the mass-murderers. The butchers. The enemies of my entire species.  
  
"You," I whispered.  
  
"Me," she echoed.  
  
Was this why I had developed an unusual fascination for her since the day I infested Jordan? Had some secret sense suggested that she was one of the bandits? Had she ever done anything to give herself away? I felt sick to Jordan's stomach. I had some strange feeling for this girl - something between admiration and pity that I had no name for. And she was one of the enemy.  
  
"You know, Yeerk, I've been waiting for this day for a long, long time now." She searched Jordan's face eagerly. What was she looking for? Fear? Pain? Some reflection of her own evil?  
  
{Dude!} Jordan cried. {Rachel's one of the good guys! I can't believe this!} She was filled with glowing pride and love for her sister. Pride and love that were instantly covered by a scab of indignation. {Hey, what took her so long to rescue me?}  
  
"Filth," I spat.  
  
Instantly, she leaped up, rocked my chair back, and had her arm around Jordan's neck. Her mouth was pressed up against Jordan's ear. "The only reason I'm not killing you for that is because you're in my sister's body," she hissed. Her hot breath tickled Jordan's skin. Goosebumps ran down Jordan's spine and out to the tips of her fingers. She released me, and paced back to her own chair. She looked at me as Marco had, straight at Jordan's forehead. "Of all species, Yeerks have no right to call anybody filth."  
  
{Whoa.}  
  
I stared at Rachel. She leaned forward, peering at me. "I'm going to sit right here, Yeerk, and watch you die. I'm going to make sure that the last thing you hear is me laughing." Such unbridled hatred coursed through her. There was a burning hunger in her eyes. A light of destruction. She was on the edge of her seat to watch a sentient creature die. Just because of my species, she was going to subject me to a long, torturous execution. Her lips twitched, inching their way towards a smile.  
  
"You're insane," I choked.  
  
"Yeah," she laughed. "Probably." 


End file.
